Chez-Murdoch: Fatal Attraction
by RuthieGreen
Summary: Another Chez-Murdoch one-shot. Inspired by R and Lovemondays. Enjoy & enter the conversation suggested at the end.


"What have you, George?" Detective William Murdoch asked, trying not to sound exasperated. He was on his way home and looking forward to a quiet dinner with his wife so he was not pleased about having his pleasure disturbed. The only reason he could think of for George Crabtree to be blocking the side walk was death.

George looked over his shoulder at the end of his street where a knot of people were clambering into a French double-decker horse-drawn omnibus, each clutching a stiff sheet of paper and chattering happily. A few individuals on the second level of the open-air bus pointed back at the Windsor Hotel, craning their necks in the process to get a better look, automatically drawing William to look up as well. At what, William was sure he could not guess, but it seemed George Crabtree did. William, narrowed his eyes at George; George - who was shifting nervously from one foot to the other, making William pivot around until his own back was towards the conveyance and the Windsor, raising William's suspicions a bit.

"W...W…Well, sir, it's…it's like this…" George stuttered out before pulling a straw boater off his head to turn over in his hands. "I…I mean, we…"

"George! What is going on here? Are you here about a police matter?" William asked sharply.

"Er, no sir, well not exactly…" was the evasive answer.

William spied one of those handbills in George's pocket. George and William's eyes caught simultaneously for a moment, then both reached for the paper at the same time, starting a small tug of war between them. It was a good thing it was sturdy paper and that William's upper body strength was superior, because George put up quite a tussle.

With an agitated flourish, William wrenched the rumpled paper aloft, reading the lurid title out loud. "Homicide and Horror: True life crime scenes in Toronto the Good." William looked at the handbill more closely. "Number one: Queen's Park; number two: The Toronto Asylum…" His thumb traced the list. "Number five: the Windsor Hotel!? George! _What is this_?" William complained.

George kept darting his eyes between the detective and the omnibus, looking like he was a creature caught between the teeth of a trap. He jumped when the bus driver rang his bell. "Oy!" The man called out, "Are you coming or not? We've got five more stops." George grimaced, obviously torn, then shook his head, reluctantly waving the driver away. He tried to face the detective with as wide-eyed and innocent an expression as possible. "Well, sir, it's harmless and quite entertaining really. Samuel Bloom and I are even thinking of creating a motorized-coach tour, as it were."

"For what purpose? Tours of murder scenes? That is awfully macabre as well as tasteless, don't you think?" William was rather shocked at the idea, especially the idea that George would get in on such an unseemly enterprise. He gave a disgusted glance at the people gathered on the omnibus, wondering about who would be attracted to the darkest of human nature, and said so. "What kind of person would pay good money for that?"

George tried to smile. "Actually, funny you should say that, sir. Did you know tours of the catacombs of Paris are so popular they have them on a daily basis now? One goes down underground to view endless stacked skulls and bones, thousands of them sir, if you can imagine. It is no longer for the privileged, the catacombs are open to the average person with a few pennies and an afternoon to spend. Over in London, one can take a mid-night tour of the Jack the Ripper crime scenes. There are tours of cemeteries in New York City…"

"This sort of scheme cannot be good for the city's reputation as Toronto The Good," William pointed out.

George guffawed lightly. "Sir. Toronto is the murder capital of North America. In the last ten years there have been over one-hundred eighty-seven murders, most of them just in Station House No. 4's jurisdiction alone. I mean, those statistics keep us getting a pay-packet, but you have to admit that's a lot of killings…"

William's eye brows arched. "Even so George, I would think you would have enough of tragedy in your work day. Why would you do this on your time off?"

"You always tell me to be curious, do you not, sir? Look at the back of the handbill. They have several choices," George enthused. "Look, sir, at the tours available. They have done some remarkable research, very detail and organized. I'm sure you can appreciate that. Well, there is the Vice and Villainy tour. Or Haunted Houses by Moonlight. This one is Three Weddings and Funerals, all about tragedies surrounding nuptials, with a nice explanation of the Tiffany stained glass in one of the churches. Or this one: Ghosts, Werewolves and Vampires. That one is my personal favourite…."

William interrupted. "Of course it is. But the Windsor Hotel? _My_ , hotel, George?" he asked pointedly.

George hesitated. "Well, sir. It is well known this is your residence. The hotel's tea room offered refreshments, and no one actually went into your rooms…"

"What?! George! Are you telling me that bus full of people were at my _door_?" William was alarmed and getting upset at such an idea. "The proprietor, not to mention the other residents, cannot be happy with that."

"Oh, no sir, no one was at your door. Er… not that I am aware that is. The hotel does get a small cut of the profits I believe, selling the tea…"

The handbill was completely balled up in William's fist at this point. "George. Why would someone come to my home on a tour? Why should that be interesting? This is preposterous!" His voice was sharp and demanding.

The two men started at each other in silence, another standoff developing. Eventually George caved in, flushing a little in embarrassment. "Well, sir...um…er…your suite of rooms, I mean…you and your wife have both been kidnapped from here, a notorious sequential killer tried to murder you, kidnapped and tried to murder little Roland there, and two people have been found dead in your very bed… and, well, ummm…you still _live_ there…and people do wonder…"

William took a minute to absorb George's uncomfortable summarization. He straightened his shoulders and took in a deep breath to calm himself. "When you put it that way, George, I see what you mean." He opened his hand and smoothed the paper out, rubbing at the wrinkles ineffectually, then handed it to George. "Please. Under no circumstances will you tell any of this to my wife, understand?"

"Yes, sir. Of course sir…er…If you don't mind I'd like to catch up with the tour, I think I can meet up with them over on Jarvis…?" George did not really wait for permission, backing quickly away to make his escape.

William watched him go, certain that George misunderstood the caution about saying anything to Julia. William gathered his wits and proceeded up the stairs into the Hotel lobby, armed with more reasons to get their house built….

...Too late to forestall Julia who was at the Hotel desk picking up the day's mail, the bundle of which sported a suspiciously stiff cardboard handbill. Rather than making sure George did not upset his wife, William was concerned that Julia would insist on dragging him on each and every one of the tours! He took rapid strides to catch up with her, hoping to distract her from reading it. _Perhaps a public display of affection?..A kiss?_ he hoped, as he reached around her for the mail and puckered.

"William!" she cried, pushing him away. "Have you seen this? How fascinating..."

Julia prattled on while his heart sank and his smile wilted.

 _Much, much too late..._

 **-END-**

A/N: much thanks to R's inspiration and Lovemonday's awesome eye for detail, spreadsheets and organization skills, not to mention her tour guide expertise...thanx to "Dutch" for the better revised ending. There were indeed Paris catacomb and "Ripper" tours - a "Mob" tour goes right by my own house once a week...

Reviews/comments encouraged about W&J staying on in that abattoir of a room at the Windsor….


End file.
